


The Robot Santa Invasion

by ProsperDemeter



Series: 20 Days of Holiday Fics [7]
Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Batfamily (DCU) Feels, Batfamily Dynamics (DCU), Damian as Robin, Gen, Grinch References, It was meant to be crack, Robot Santas, but then Jason got introspective, dick as batman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-07
Updated: 2020-12-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:53:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27944117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ProsperDemeter/pseuds/ProsperDemeter
Summary: “But wait,” Tim said when Jason landed beside him and straightened up. “Isn’t the Grinch literally about him trying to steal Christmas?”His family was full of talkers.Jason shot off his gun, watched one of the Santa’s shake and then drop at the voltage and kicked at the hunk of metal with the toe of his boot.It didn’t move.Good.“Does that make you Cindy Lou-Who?”“What?” Tim whacked one over the head with his staff, knocked the skull clean off and sent it careening into one that was marching its angry way towards him.“Your childhood was pathetic, Red.”
Relationships: Batfamily - Relationship, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson & Jason Todd & Damian Wayne
Series: 20 Days of Holiday Fics [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2035498
Comments: 8
Kudos: 153





	The Robot Santa Invasion

**Author's Note:**

> Day seven!
> 
> Jason got all thinky and made it more soft than crack and eh... have it.

If it wasn’t one thing…. 

Jason swore he was going to disown the entire family this time. He  _ swore _ it. He screamed it. He  _ texted _ it. He wrote it in bullets. 

And he still showed up to the fight. 

What was  _ wrong  _ with him? 

Maybe it was because Dick had sounded so absolutely drawn thin on the phone, or maybe it was that Barbara would find him and make him regret ever climbing out of the grave, or perhaps it was Tim with his goddamn hero worship still  _ wishing _ that Jason would be the person he always imagined he would be. 

But, to be honest, Jason was pretty sure it was just Alfred that made him show up. 

_ No one _ , in their right mind, would  _ ever _ disobey an order from Alfred Pennyworth. 

“This is ridiculous, Richard.” Damian, the demon brat, the devil reincarnate, Bruce Wayne’s mini-me, said with his nose stuck proudly up the asscrack of anything his father had ever touched. “We don’t need help from  _ Todd _ .” 

Dick, with the long suffering sigh of a twenty-something that was genuinely tired of having to argue everything with Batman 2.0, shut Damian up with the same grace and talent that he had been able to get Bruce to actually apologize. Jason had thought, when he was younger, that it was a level of respect that Bruce only gave Dick. As an older, wiser, and previously dead member of the family, Jason recognized, now, that it was more that Dick was just  _ that good _ at getting people to be quiet and listen to him. And he was a damn good Batman, even if Jason  _ hated _ to admit it. 

But it was dragging him down. The responsibility of being the Batman was too much for  _ Nightwing _ . It was too much for anyone, even Bruce Wayne, to shoulder on their own. 

So maybe Jason  _ was _ there to help out his big brother. So what? He didn’t  _ dislike _ Dickie-bird. The older man had earned Jason’s respect day in and day out. 

Not that Jason would ever  _ say _ that to him. 

Knowing Dick, though, he wouldn’t want Jason to. 

Their family was a ridiculously emotionally constipated one. “It doesn’t feel right killing Santa.” Tim quipped while his fingers flew across the Bat-cave’s computer keyboard. 

Jason snorted. “We’re all permanently on the naughty list anyway.” 

“Speak for yourself,” Dick tossed him a communicator and fixed his own in his ear with a raised eyebrow. The Batsuit looked odd on him, even  _ after _ Alfred had it altered to fit Dick’s slimmer body instead of Bruce’s. “ _ I’ve _ been a fucking saint.” 

“You do not  _ actually _ believe in Saint Nicholas, do you Richard?” Damian asked slowly with a barely there hint of worry in his voice.

“You  _ don’t _ ?” Dick gasped dramatically and Damian’s eyes widened at the implication. 

Jason pursed his lips to keep from laughing - Dick was a performer, but he was  _ also _ a good pseudo parent. He was teasing Damian, just as he always teased Damian, and, hopefully, reminding him to follow the unspoken rule all non-believers followed when it came to Santa Claus - he was real until the child told you that he wasn’t. Damian, terrible at recognizing some social cues still, opened his mouth to point out the incorrect assumption and Jason slapped a hand over his lips. “Don’t ruin it for him.” He hissed in the brat’s ear. 

Tim caught his eye from the chair and molded his laughter into a smirk that the others couldn’t see. Jason rolled his eyes and Damian only bared his teeth in his direction before pulling his hood up over his head. 

“You ready to go, Robin?” Dick asked after securing his belt. 

“Yes.” 

“Great,” He turned back to Jason and Tim. “You two  _ will _ be civil, right?” 

“No we’re going to set fire to the Narrows.” Tim deadpanned for Jason could. 

“Ha.” Jason met his fist with a bump of his own and was only slightly unnerved by the way Dick’s blue eyes didn’t look disappointed behind the cowl. 

Robin 3.0’s humor was getting better, sue Jason for supporting the kid’s ongoing education. “Have fun out there, kids.” Dick winked. “Stay in contact.” 

“Aye aye, Wing.” Jason, in fact, was the only one that called Dick by his old moniker soon and it endlessly annoyed Damian. Granted, Damian hadn’t seen much of Nightwing in action to understand how vitally important it was that Dick remembered who  _ Nightwing _ had been, even as Batman. Jason called him Nightwing still when it was necessary, if only for the way the youngest kid’s left eye would twitch. 

\--

Jason found himself stuck in the cold Gotham night, Tim in his much less ridiculous Red Robin outfit - this one with the yellow x’s crossing his chest and normal cowl over the odd, annoying, and  _ pointy _ plague doctor mask - beside him as they stared down at… Santa’s… crowding the Gotham streets. 

They were weaving in and out of each household, entering with nothing and exiting with armfulls of presents. They were  _ then _ tossing them into a giant fire pit in the middle of the street, and moving onto the next target. 

And Jason wasn’t that  _ into _ the holiday himself. But some of these families, particularly in the Narrows, had spent their entire years savings on these presents. For some of those kids, Christmas was the  _ one _ day a year that their family actually managed to get along without fighting. He, honestly, couldn’t wait to work off some steam on those robot Santa’s. 

“What is this, some Grinch rip-off?” Tim asked with annoyed stiffness in his voice. His lenses, Jason knew, were sending him endless input of the scene below. How many there were, where their weak points were located, and where the signal they were receiving was coming from. 

“Have you ever even seen the Grinch?” Jason’s  _ own _ mask did the same. 

“No,” Tim conceded easily. “You ready, Hood?” 

He unstrapped his bo-staff from his hip and snapped it out to the side so it stood at it’s full length. Jason slid his guns out of their holsters and switched the trigger to an electronic sting that would, hopefully, be the voltage to take them down. They had to be careful, according to Barbara at the Clocktower. The robot Santas would attack if they deemed the Bats as a threat. And if they  _ didn’t _ … well then Jason would just be offended. “The Grinch is  _ green _ , Red.” 

Tim took it for the affirmation it was and jumped down first, his black cape flowing up behind him to make for an easier descent, and Jason followed only after making sure the kid landed safely. 

He knew the unspoken rule Dick had tossed at him -  _ he _ would take Damian (not simply because Damian was Robin, but also because Tim and Damian were constantly on the verge of tearing each other apart) and Jason would be responsible for Tim. It was unspoken, and maybe a bit unfair, and Dick would  _ never _ admit to it if Jason even insinuated the thing out in public, but Jason knew. And Dick knew. And it was terribly obvious that  _ Tim _ knew. 

Still, Jason would keep an eye on the kid. Maybe not for Dick. But for his own sanity. Because he may have been full of pit-rage and ready to kill the kid years ago, but he genuinely  _ liked _ Timothy Drake. He was smart as a whip, a damn good fighter, and had a sense of humor to boot.  _ And _ he didn’t hold a grudge. Jason had never met a person so quick to forgive aside from Tim. He didn’t want him dead. 

Let alone by a robot Santa. 

_ That _ would be one for the books, anyway. 

“But wait,” Tim said when Jason landed beside him and straightened up. “Isn’t the Grinch  _ literally _ about him trying to steal Christmas?” 

His family was full of talkers. 

Jason shot off his gun, watched one of the Santa’s shake and then drop at the voltage and kicked at the hunk of metal with the toe of his boot. 

It didn’t move. 

Good. 

“Does that make you Cindy Lou-Who?” 

“What?” Tim whacked one over the head with his staff, knocked the skull clean off and sent it careening into one that was marching its angry way towards him. 

“Your childhood was  _ pathetic _ , Red.” Jason ducked a swipe from a Santa clad in a bathing suit to his left. 

“You’re a mean one,” Dick sang through the coms, “Mister Grinch.” 

“You’re as cuddly as a cactus,” Barbara met him with their own, odd sense of one another from the Clocktower, “You’re as charming as an eel,” 

“Mister  _ Grinch _ !” 

“If you don’t shut the fuck up.” Jason warned, “I’ll let all these Santa’s steal Christmas.” 

“No you won’t.” Barbara corrected mildly. 

Jason sighed. No he wouldn’t. “I  _ could _ .” Jason muttered petulantly. 

“Yes you could.” Tim agreed, clearly humoring him and then yelped when one of the Santa’s got a good grip on the back of his cape and  _ pulled _ . He fell backwards on his bum, took a moment to right himself and then rolled himself into a flip backwards. He planted both feet into the robot’s chest and  _ pushed _ , and the moment the robot let go of the cape - with a loud rip - Jason fired a shot that sent it shaking and falling backwards - smoke rolling out of the top of it’s Santa cap. “Thanks.” Tim took the offered hand and pulled himself up. “Duck.” Jason ducked. 

Tim’s staff clipped off another head. 

“Save some of the heads for me.” Jason shot another square in the chest. 

“Person with the most heads wins?” 

“Oh!” Dick chimed in again. “That sounds fun. I’m up to ten.” 

“You don’t count, Big Bird.” Jason argued and shot three in quick succession in the glinting, metal of the top of their heads. “You’re on, Red.” 

“You better catch up, Hood.” Because Tim had just, in that moment, sent another head careening into one more, hit  _ that _ one clean off, and then did the same with another two right after. 

“You little shit.” Jason swore and got to work. 

It was actually sort of fun, if Jason were being honest. Tim was a skilled fighter, and a  _ brilliant _ tactician. He knew how to adapt to most situations, including robot Santa’s and working with Jason. He moved so that everything  _ he _ did complimented whatever Jason did and he could see, then, how Tim could have worked so well with Bruce in the field. He didn’t need orders to be yelled out at him, he worked seamlessly twelve steps ahead of everyone else. It wasn’t the first time Jason had fought alongside him, but he was always amazed when he actually got to see the kid in action. And Jason  _ knew _ that he was impressive too - he had a bulk that he could move in a way that most couldn’t. He had talent, and strength, and skill. 

But seeing Tim work? 

It was something like pride that shined through him looking at it. 

“Fifteen!” Tim shouted over to him. 

“Eighteen!” Dick said through the coms. 

“This is stupid.” Damian whined. 

“He has six.” Dick added despite Damian’s outraged cry. 

“Twenty.” Jason said with a smirk. 

“Ha,” Tim said after a moment later. “Twenty  _ one _ .” 

“You  _ fucking _ …” Jason cut himself off at the little girl watching the fight from her apartment window. “Little  _ shit _ .” The little girl cheered. 

“I bet Greg that you’d win!” She said eagerly from her window, but wisely kept it shut. 

Jason glanced to find Greg and saw a little boy on Tim’s side of the street, waving excitedly at the two heroes with a cellphone in his hand. Jason smirked. “What did you bet?” 

“Uh,” She took a moment to think and wrinkled her nose. “A kiss.” 

Jason wrinkled his to match hers. “Disgusting.” He shot an incoming robot without even looking at it. It’s head knocked back and he added to his mental count. “I mean, you clearly have to win now.” 

“Really?! Thank you, Mister Hood!” 

“Keep that door locked, okay?”

“Okay!”

He carried on down the street, Tim matching him step for step and got lost in the slew of metal Santa’s. Thankfully, the majority had given up on breaking into houses and turned on the two of them and their numbers were beginning to dwindle. Jason was glad for that, a few had gotten in some good shots and he was almost out of rounds. His trigger finger stung, Tim had taken a good hit or two to the head and Dick sounded  _ exhausted _ on the other end of the coms. Barbara was almost done, though. Or so her frantic typing in their ears was telling them. “ _ Why _ ?” Jason asked, shaking out his arms at the second wave that was making its way towards them. 

Tim was examining the cut Jason had gotten on the back of his neck from a razor sharp piece of shrapnel that had barely missed him, and swiped at the blood that was dripping down his own forehead with the back of his hand. “Is this like a video game? Is it only after the third wave we meet the big boss?” 

“I swear to all fuck, Red.” Jason threatened uselessly. “If you just jinxed us.” 

He smiled coyly. 

“I’m in!” Barbara cried and the robots shuddered as one, dropped their arms, and fell to the ground. 

The kids in the surrounding apartments cheered on either side of the street and Jason felt Tim slump against his side for just a moment in relief before straightening back up. 

He did good. 

For a sixteen year old kid he did  _ good _ . 

“How many did you get, Mister Hood?” The little girl from before yelled out her window. 

“Uh,” in truth, Jason had forgotten that counting was something that he needed to do. He added them up quick in his head. “Eighty three.” 

“And what about you, Mister Robin!” 

Mister Robin. 

Jason wondered what they called Damian and how much it bothered him that  _ Tim _ , for most of these children, was still their Robin. Tim didn’t hesitate like Jason had. “Eighty two.” 

Jason had won? 

Wow. 

“Yay!” The little girl cheered. 

“Boo!” The little boy, Greg, pouted.

\--

They got home early Christmas morning, and Jason was busy calculating how exactly he was going to replace all of the kid’s presents when Dick clamped a hand down on his shoulder and looked out at the younger boys with the closest thing to fondness Jason had ever seen on him. “Thanks for coming, Jay.” He said softly, worried, obviously, that if he spoke loud enough it would startle the way Damian was asleep on the length of the leather sofa and Tim was curled up, relaxing for once, on Bruce’s old armchair. 

Jason shrugged in response, maybe he could text Kori or Roy and see if they could help him out. “Don’t worry about the presents.” Dick said after a moment of silence longer. 

It was odd, Jason thought looking at him, how he had spent so long staring up at Dick and holding him on a tall pedestal and  _ now _ Dick was shorter than him. “Those kids deserve a Christmas.” Jason argued. 

“And they’ll get one.” Dick promised earnestly. “Courtesy of the Wayne Foundation.” 

Jason paused and thought of the words, his argument dying on his lips. 

Bruce wouldn’t have done that. Would he have? Maybe once upon a time, before the world had made him too jaded. “Th… thanks, Dick.” 

Dick smiled, soft and a little sad and nudged Jason’s shoulder with his own. “Stay tonight? Alfred’s making his Christmas roast.” 

Jason nodded silently and watched with an odd swirling in his stomach as Dick lifted Damian’s feet and slid down underneath them. Slowly, Jason grabbed a throw from the pile near the fireplace and unfurled it under Tim’s chin before settling on the long, three seater couch. Above the fireplace was, perhaps, the only proof of a large family Bruce kept around the house. A picture of him and Dick, before there was more than one Robin and ice cream between the two of them. And then a snapshot of Jason and Alfred in the kitchen when  _ he _ had just come to the manor, flour on his cheeks and smile wide. Tim was after that, thirteen and cheek-to-cheek with Stephanie. Cass was next, in a ballet snapshot on her tiptoes. And then a newer, smaller framed photo sat of Damian at a zoo, perhaps looking the most like a child that he had ever been. 

Jason didn’t think Bruce had put them there, but Dick definitely had tossed on the last one. 

He didn’t sleep that night but he did, sneakily, take a wide angle snapshot of the entire room, all of his brothers sleeping softly, and sent it to Alfred before deleting it off his phone. 

_ Merry Christmas, Jason,  _ Alfred typed back. 

Jason tossed his phone to the side, turned his attention back to the fire, and allowed himself a moment of peace. 

It was nice. 

To be back home. 


End file.
